Shattered
by Foreword
Summary: For the 1st time in his career, Elliot Stabler is unable to live with his actions after circumstances force him to shoot a young girl. Will this permanently affect his relationship with his partner?  THIS IS NOT AN E/O ROMANCE.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I'm taking a break from writing __Akin__ to work on this short piece which is my version of what happens after the last episode of Season 12, __Smoked__. Many thanks to Christina (munchkin_79) for letting me bounce ideas off of her and reading it through. This should be short, about three chapters total, and I hope to get it all posted before the new season begins. _

1

He woke with his head pounding and his stomach churning. His mouth felt as dry as cotton and tasted like a thousand Marines had been marching through it with dusty boots_. I must be coming down with something _he thought but then his groggy mind began to recall the events of the night before and he remembered why he felt so miserable: shot after shot of whiskey, chased with pint after pint of beer, feeling so desperate for oblivion that he ignored the bartender's concerned looks and the stares of the people on the stools around him. Shot after shot, until he felt a gentle hand on his arm and turned to see the clear blue of his wife's eyes, full of sympathy as she came to take him home to the comfort and safety of his family.

His mind drifted back further to the reason why he'd been in the bar drinking alone and trying to achieve oblivion. _The shooting_. It hadn't been a bad dream. He gave a low, anguished groan and rolled over; burying his face in his pillow as the images came flooding back.

_He crouched beside Jenna, supporting her head with his hand as the light drained from her eyes and the life from her body and a pool of her blood formed on the floor next to her. "I just bought it on the street," she choked out, her sweet face a collage of shock and confusion. "It was easy."_

She bought a gun and came to finish the job they'd only just begun to do: bring her mother's killer to justice. Except that it hadn't been just one killer, it had been a clusterfuck of warped men with their own agendas that added up to one terrible crime. Olivia had led her right to them, walked her to the holding cell and pointed them out like specimens in a zoo. Why had she done that? You never gave grieving victims access to perps, not even when they were sweet, seemingly innocent teenagers like Jenna. The girl had taken a long look at them, nodded and let Liv walk her back to the door, but Liv hadn't escorted her out, hadn't followed through to make sure she was okay, just let her go. Who could be okay after just seeing the men who had killed her mother? A minute later the girl was back, the gun firing from her shaking hand as all hell broke loose.

He looked across the room to where Liv was bent over the still, bloody body of Sister Peg. _Sister Peg!_ Another innocent life lost.

His eyes locked with Olivia's as they each bent over their respective victims-that-shouldn't-have-been. She looked as stunned and confused as he felt, but he thought he also caught a glimpse of doubt. She knew she'd screwed up.

"Elliot, she's gone, come on, man," said a gentle voice beside him and then Fin was helping him up, leading him to the other side of the room, away from the bodies. Distance didn't matter; it was a sight he was never going to forget, a child dying in his arms, shot by his own hand.

He fell back against the wall hard, suddenly unsure if his legs would hold him. His body was shaking, vibrating like a tuning fork. _I just shot a kid._ All around him people were talking and phones were ringing off the hook, but all he could hear was Jenna's soft voice. _"It was easy."_

The door to the squad room flew open and four EMT's rushed in, eyes darting around the room to assess the scene. One, seeing the look of shock on his face, started toward him but he shook his head, waving him toward the other side of the room where the one perp who wasn't dead was moaning and carrying on. _There's no help for me._

Why hadn't he just let her shoot the scum and then disarmed her? Even as the thought ran through his head, he knew the answer. His years of training and experience had kicked in. It was automatic. A gun in the hand of an unstable person was a volatile situation and had to be defused by any means, even lethal force. Second guessing only leads to more deaths. Shoot for the biggest target, the torso, for the best chance of immobilizing an armed perp.

But Jenna hadn't been a _perp_; she was a _victim_, the child of a victim. _A child._ The word kept running through his head and he thought he might vomit. Acid churned in his stomach and rose to fill the back of his throat.

Cragen came over to lead him to his office, his arm around his shoulder. He was talking, but Elliot couldn't make out the words, didn't even try. Jenna's soft whispers still filled his head. _"It was easy." _

Just as they got to the office door, the squad room swung open again and Tucker was there. _Goddamn rat squad. _The man had a sixth sense for trouble, or perhaps just a direct line to Elliot's soul. Before the investigator could even open his mouth, Elliot was reaching to his belt to unclip his holster and badge. Fin had taken his gun when he'd led him away from Jenna's still body. _So still._

"Here," he said, thrusting them into Tucker's hands, noticing the flare of surprise in the older man's ice blue eyes. He knew the routine by heart and he didn't give a damn anymore. "You can have them. I quit." He waved his hand in the general direction of the others in the room. "They can tell you what happened."

He turned and headed to the crib. He stopped at the sink to splash water on his face, taking deep breaths in an attempt to slow his racing heart beat, avoiding looking in the mirror. He couldn't face himself, literally or figuratively. He wanted to be as far away from this place of death and destruction as quickly as possible. As he was pulling jacket out of his locker, Olivia came into the room, still looking pale.

"Elliot, are you okay? Did I hear you say you _quit_?"

He held up his hand to stop her voice, her questions, her need. "Don't Olivia, just…don't." He pushed past her to the door but as he walked by, she reached out to grab his arm. He took a step backward to be out of her reach, noting the hurt and confusion that flashed across her face. He didn't, couldn't care. "I can't do this right now, Liv. I can't."

"Can't do what?" Her voice was low, plaintive, on the verge of tears.

He turned and took a step back so he was almost in her face. "I can't hold your hand right now, Liv. I can't comfort _you_. I just shot that girl because of you. I shot a _child_."

"Because of _me_?" Her voice sounded angry but he could see in her eyes that she knew what he meant. "You think this is all _my _fault?"

He held her gaze for a long moment; sky blue eyes locked with chocolate brown, and then shook his head and repeated "I can't do this right now." He turned abruptly and left the crib, left the squad room, ignoring the people calling out his name. At the door he was held up momentarily by a gurney being wheeled out. The body bag was zipped shut but he could tell by the size that it was Sister Peg. How many cases had they worked together? Now she was dead, all because she'd decided to drop by at the precise moment when a grief stricken young girl had chosen to take the law into her own hands and no one had been on top of their game to stop her. _Sister Peg_. Where was God's hand in that?

Once on the street, he realized he'd left his car keys in his desk. There was no way he was going back up there and he realized he was in no condition to drive anyway. He needed to be moving, to be expending energy. He needed a drink, something to help him lose himself and drown out the thoughts that were already crowding his mind. _I just shot_ a _child_. She was Lizzie's age, for God's sake! He made a choking noise and began walking, barely aware of his surroundings.

When he finally tired enough to slow down, he was in an unfamiliar neighborhood of working class bars interspersed with run-down store fronts, Mom & Pop places struggling to stay in business. _Perfect_. He randomly picked one and entered. Not waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, he made his way to the bar and sat at an empty stool.

"A beer," he demanded when the bartender, an older man with white hair and beard, stopped in front of him. "And a shot of whiskey." He pulled out his wallet, extracted a fifty-dollar bill and laid it on the bar in front of him. "Keep them coming."

Now Kathy was standing at his side. He had no idea how long he'd been here but all that remained of the fifty was a few singles and some change. "Let's go home," she said softly and he could see in her eyes that she knew everything. He was both shamed and comforted by her knowledge.

"How did you know where I was?" He asked, his words so slurred that even he could barely understand them. In the whole time he'd been there, he hadn't spoken a word, despite the bartender's best attempts to engage him in conversation. He wasn't there to talk, but to forget, to erase, to rewind the clock.

Kathy nodded toward the back of the bar. He turned to look, the room spinning at the sudden movement. Squinting, he could see Olivia, Fin and Munch sitting in a booth, looking at him with anxious faces. He felt a rush of anger at the thought that they'd been here all along, spying on him as he tried to erase himself.

"Olivia was worried, so she followed you," his wife said. "She called me a little while ago and told me what happened." Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, El. What a terrible thing."

She took his hands and tugged at him to get him off the stool. "Let me take you home," she repeated and never had a word sounded so appealing. _Home._ He stood and almost fell. God, he was drunk. He hadn't been this drunk since he'd been a teenager, partying on the dunes on Long Beach and puking behind the grass only to start over again. Kathy slipped her arm around his waist and began moving him toward the door. He felt rather than saw her give an imperceptible shake of her head and turned to see Fin half standing at the booth, ready to come and help. Turning his face away from his co-workers, the last people on earth he wanted to see, he concentrated on making it to the car.

The cool night air helped revive him a little. Kathy unlocked the passenger side and helped him inside, but as she was reaching across him to fasten his seat belt, he pushed her roughly back and away to avoid splashing her as he bent over the curb, coughing and retching. The whiskey burned coming up as much as it had on the way down and in some perverse way he welcomed the raw heat. He'd take physical pain over mental anguish any day.

He heard footsteps as Kathy made her way around to the other side of the car and then she was back, handing him tissues so he could wipe his face. He remained hunched over the curb for a long minute, his elbows on his knees, head in hands, waiting for the heaves to subside. He could hear people coming in and out of the bar, but thankfully, no one approached them.

When his stomach finally felt empty, he eased himself back into the car, resting his head against the back of the seat.

"Do you want to lie down in the back seat?" Kathy asked. He shook his head and she climbed in and started the car. As she reached for the gear shift to put the car into drive, he put out a shaking hand to stop her. She turned to look at him, confused.

"Kath," he whispered. He didn't want to say it out loud, but he had to get it out here, before they left He didn't want to pollute their home with this conversation. She waited, her eyes soft and full of love. "I killed…I had to shoot…a girl. A girl Lizzie's age."

Her eyes filled with tears again. "I know, babe, Olivia told me what happened. I'm so sorry."

"I didn't have a choice," he said in a low voice. "She was out of control, she was shooting everyone. I had to do it. I didn't have a choice."

"No, you didn't," she agreed and at this expression of understanding he moved across the seat to bury his head in her shoulder. She cradled his head in her arms as his body shook with violent sobs. "There was nothing else you could do."

Olivia stood in the window of the bar, watching as her partner brought his guts up on the side of the street. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw him move into his wife's arms. Even from this distance she could see his shoulders moving and realized he was crying. Never in the twelve years of their partnership had she seen Elliot Stabler show this much emotion.

"_I just shot that girl because of you." _His words echoed in her head. Was he lashing out because he was upset or _had_ it been her fault? She'd been reviewing the events that led up to the shooting in her head all evening. When Jenna had shown up, she'd been so happy to finally be able to tell her they had someone in custody. The arrangement of the new squad room had the holding cells front and center where everyone could monitor them, unlike the old place where they were off to the side. It wasn't standard operating procedure, but she'd walked Jenna over and shown her the three men, the pieces of the complicated puzzle they'd finally begun to unravel that explained why her mother had died. It had never crossed her mind that little Jenna, so fragile and injured, would be capable of such violence.

_Always be vigilant; expect the unexpected_. The words of her instructor in the Academy echoed in her head. She hadn't followed that most basic of rules today and now her partner sat in a car six feet away from her, his life shattered and wanting nothing to do with her.

Tucker had been furious when Elliot left the station and wanted to send uni's to pick him up, but Cragen had insisted he let him go. When Olivia had started to go after her partner, she'd thought the top of the IAB investigator's head would explode. Cragen had interceded again, reminding Tucker that he had plenty of other people to interview.

"Go, Liv," he'd told her, motioning with his head to the door. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

She'd gotten outside just in time to see Elliot turn the corner and had hurried after him, taking care to stay far enough behind that he didn't spot her. Her precautions were unnecessary; she could have been walking alongside him and he wouldn't have noticed. His face was dark with emotion and his pace was relentless. Not sure she could keep up, she'd been about to radio for a squad car to help her tail him when he finally stopped and went into a bar. Standing outside, she watched as he took a stool and laid a bill on the counter. Satisfied that he intended to remain here for awhile, she pulled out her phone to call Cragen. He promised to send Munch and Fin over as soon as they were finished with IAB. "Just keep an eye on him." He'd advised her. "He needs to be alone right now."

"Let me drive you home, Liv." Said John, coming up behind her. "There's nothing more we can do tonight. Kathy will take care of him."

Olivia nodded slowly but remained at the window, watching as the car pulled away from the curb and drove down the block. Elliot was understandably upset, but he'd calm down and they'd talk tomorrow and get this all straightened out. He just needed a little time.

If she'd realized that this would be the last she'd see of him for almost six months, she probably would have run screaming after the car, begging him to take her with him.


	2. Chapter 2

2

"Babe, Captain Cragen is on the phone. Again." Kathy stepped into the bathroom and poked her head around the shower curtain. It had been a week since the shooting and Elliot was refusing to speak to anyone from the department. He spent most of his time engaging in periods of intense activity like mowing the lawn or running, taking long showers and sleeping, coming to life only when the kids were home from school. When they left in the morning, he went back to bed and pulled the covers over his head until he thought of something that needed to be done around the house and then the cycle began again.

"I can't talk to him right now. " Elliot mumbled, his face turned up to take the full force of the water. No matter how long he showered he still felt dirty and unfit to be around other people. He knew it was a common for rape victims to compulsively shower after an attack and now he finally understood exactly how they felt. No amount of water could wash the filth away, but it didn't stop him from trying.

Kathy sighed and went downstairs to break the news to Cragen—again. When she returned to the second floor, Elliot was still in the shower. It had been over half an hour this time. She hesitated outside the half-open bathroom door for a minute, then stepped inside the room and quickly undressed. She'd tried everything, from listening patiently as he described, over and over to her, the events of that day and second guessed himself, to letting him sleep and shower as much as he wanted without saying a word. When the kids were home, she made sure they kept him engaged, but even though he responded best to them, she saw the look of pain that crossed his face at times as he watched them go about their activities and knew he was thinking of Jenna Fox. Now, she crossed the room, pulled the shower curtain aside again and, before he could object, stepped inside to join him.

He was so deep in thought that it took him a minute to realize he was no longer alone and by then she had already picked up a bottle of shower gel and was soaping his back in long, luxurious strokes. He allowed himself to relax into the sensation for a minute and then turned to face her.

"What did Cragen say?" he asked.

"That he'll try again tomorrow." Kathy said simply. She didn't mention that the Captain had told her he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to hold IAB off, and that if Elliot had any desire to hold onto his pension and benefits, he was going to have to come in and talk to them sooner rather than later. She poured more soap into her hand and began working on his chest, this time using circular motions. When she dipped her hand down lower, she heard him catch his breath and thought for a moment he would push her away. They hadn't been intimate since that terrible day; he was so lost in his own misery he hadn't even wanted to be touched. Instead of rejecting her, he closed his eyes and leaned his head forward until his forehead touched against hers. She stroked him until he was hard and heavy in her hand. He groaned and used one hand to tip her chin up so that her mouth met his. What followed was neither gentle nor sweet. His tongue probed her mouth almost angrily and sensing his mood, she bit at his bottom lip in return.

The stubble of his beard scraped against her face as they wrestled like teenagers for a few minutes, nipping, probing, and each fighting for control of the other's mouth. She could feel the tension in every muscle in his body as he pressed against her, hard, moving her back against the shower wall. He reached to take both of her hands in his and raised them over her head, pinning her to the wall. The hard length of his erection pressed into her stomach and brought a warm, wet rush of heat to her center. Raising one leg, she tried to position herself to take him inside her, but the difference in their heights made the angle impossible. He gave a low growl of frustration at her efforts and let go of her hands, sliding his own down to grasp her buttocks, allowing her to lift both legs and wrap them around his waist. This achieved the desired effect and he plunged into her with a force that took her breath away.

Her husband was usually a gentle and considerate lover but she had learned long ago that when he was bottling up emotions, he found release in physical activity and sex was one of them. A steady diet of rough sex would not have been to her liking, but an occasional interlude of it brought variety to their marriage. She loved knowing that it was one way she could help her emotionally-repressed husband cope with stress.

After, they both stood under the running water, gasping for breath. She rested her forehead against his chest and felt the wild thumping of his heart as he stroked the wet hair back from her face. When the water heater finally ran out of hot water and the spray turned to cold, they laughed and leapt out of the shower, grabbing for towels. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh in a week and she liked the sound of it.

That afternoon, Elliot was out in the yard, furiously hacking away at the hedge that separated their yard from the neighbors when a car pulled into the driveway. Knowing that Kathy had just left for the grocery store a few minutes ago, he turned to see if she had returned for something she'd forgotten.

He saw George Huang stepping out of a small black sports car. Instead of his usual suit and tie, he was dressed casually in jeans and a v-necked cotton sweater over a white t-shirt. Elliot frowned and turned back to the bushes, attacking them with a renewed vengeance.

"Hello, Elliot," said George behind him a minute later. He'd chosen to ignore Elliot's not-so-subtle body language.

Elliot took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and turned to face him.

"What are you doing here, George?" He asked his tone and scowl making it clear that the visitor was unwelcome.

"The Captain asked me to come out and talk to you," George replied in that gentle, even tone that Elliot found so infuriating at times and even more now. He glanced toward the house. "Is there somewhere where we can sit for a few minutes?"

Elliot sighed and wondered if the reason Kathy had decided to go shopping was because she knew about Huang's visit. He tossed the clippers down on the ground and led Huang around the side of the house to the back patio, motioning for him to take a seat at the table. Deliberately not offering any refreshments, he sat down heavily in the chair opposite the one that Huang chose and raised his eyebrows.

"So, it's your mission to "fix" me, Doc?" he asked in a sarcastic tone. "I still quit, nothing is going to change my mind about that."

"Elliot," George began softly and his understanding tone made Elliot want to reach across the table and cuff him. "I can only guess at what you're going through right now, but even if you're serious about quitting the department—and I hope you're not-you've got to come in and talk to IAB. You can't just walk away from the job with no consequences. Right now you're on administrative leave while they investigate the shooting, but they can't wrap that up until you give your statement. And if you don't cooperate soon, it's going to jeopardize your pension."

Elliot glared at him across the table. He knew he was right, but the thought of returning to the precinct and the scene of the shooting made him physically ill.

"So, what's going on with you?" George asked when he didn't get a verbal response. "How are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" Elliot scoffed. He pushed his chair back and stood up to pace the small patio area, bending over to pull some weeds in the flower bed around the perimeter. He turned back to face Huang, who sat waiting patiently, his face as inscrutable as always. "I feel like a pond scum. I shot and killed a child, one of our victims. I killed a girl my daughter's age that watched her mother get shot a few days ago and had so little trust in us that she felt she had to take justice into her own hands."

Huang said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on Elliot as he paced and talked.

"And I am angry," Elliot continued. "Angry as hell that I had to do it. There was no reason for it. They never should have designed the new offices with that cage in the center; we all told them it was a bad idea. What was Olivia thinking, leading Jenna right to the perps? She had no business doing that—and then to show her the men that killed her mother and then just let her leave like she's going to be okay after that? What the _hell_ was she thinking?"

"I think those are questions you have to ask Olivia," Huang said in that gentle tone. Elliot kept pacing.

"And why me? Olivia and Fin—neither of them even pulled their guns. I was the only one who reacted. I was the only one who even tried to stop her. Olivia just stood that and yelled at her, like she was going to listen to reason at that point. She didn't even try to defend herself. And who, who in the _goddamn hell_, let Jenna into the station with a gun in the first place?"

He stopped pacing and glared at Huang.

"That one I can answer," said Huang. "It turns out the metal detector downstairs was on the fritz and the uni who was assigned to search people as they came in the building did a slip shod job on Jenna. He saw a kid and made an assumption that she was okay. He didn't pat her down; he just made her open the front of her jacket. She must have had the gun tucked in the waistband of her pants, at the back. He's been fired."

Elliot gave a snort of derision. "For all the good it does now. Jenna is still dead. And I have to live with knowing that I killed her."

"From what I hear, you didn't have a choice," said Huang. "I've reviewed the statements, everyone is consistent in that you ordered her to drop the weapon and that she didn't."

"She started to," said Elliot wearily, dropping back into the chair. He'd been over this scene in his head a million times. "She was ready to put it down and then that fucking asshole Skinner started running his mouth off and she turned to shoot him. I should have let her do it. "

"You couldn't do that," Huang said firmly. "She'd already turned the gun on the room at large once; that's how Sister Peg was killed. There was no telling what she might have done after she shot Skinner. You did the only thing you could under the circumstances."

"And now I have to live with it for the rest of my life." Elliot said flatly. The two men sat in silence for a few long moments.

"You've had to use your weapon before in the line of duty," commented Huang. "How is this different?"

Elliot looked at him in amazement. "How is it different? Those other times—they were perps, they were going to shoot me if I didn't shoot first. Jenna—she wasn't a perp, she was the child of one of our victims."

"She became a perp when she picked up that gun and chose to shoot it." Huang pointed out.

Elliot shook his head, refusing to accept this point. "She was out of her mind with grief. "He said. "Her mother waited for over two years for justice on her rape charge, and then was killed before it even came to trial. Jenna watched her die. She didn't have faith in us that we'd bring her mother's killer to justice because we'd already let her down once."

"She still made a choice to take the law into her own hands." Said Huang. "She murdered three people in cold blood and seriously injured another."

"Skinner lived?" asked Elliot. He'd refused to read any of the coverage in the newspaper. "That figures."

"So, what now, Elliot? Are you seriously considering not returning to SVU?"

For the first time, Elliot let his eyes meet Huang's. The younger man saw the anguish in the depths of his blue eyes and etched in every line of the seasoned detective's face.

"I can't go back. I don't think I'll ever be able to pick up a gun again. I signed on for this job to help kids, not kill them."

George was silent for a few moments as he carefully thought out his words. "You've been through a pretty significant trauma, Elliot. It's likely that you're suffering from PTSD. What I would recommend is that you cooperate with the investigation and use the time while you're out on administrative leave to heal a little before you make that final decision. I can't stress highly enough that you need to be talking to someone about this. If you're not comfortable doing it with me, then I can recommend someone else not on the department. "

Elliot nodded. Kathy had been telling him the same thing. He'd toyed with the idea of calling Rebecca Hendrix, who'd helped him through a difficult time before, but he didn't want to share that with Huang.

"You don't have to come back to the precinct to meet with IAB. Go to their offices, or if that's not comfortable, ask that Tucker come out here. But meet with them."

Elliot stiffened at the thought of his nemesis Ed Tucker here in his home but recognized that Huang had a valid point. He couldn't put off talking to them indefinitely.

"I'll call Tucker today and set something up," he said reluctantly.

"And one more thing," George added, looking at Elliot to gauge his reaction. "Olivia's going through a rough time too, Elliot. It would really help her out if you would take her calls or get in touch with her."

At this, Elliot shook his head vehemently. "I can't do that. I can't talk to her right now. I'm too angry."

"It might help you both," George persisted. "You two worked the case together; it might help to work through the aftermath together too."

Again, Elliot shook his head. He couldn't think clearly about Olivia right now, let alone talk to her without exploding. They were supposed to be partners, they were supposed to have each other's backs, but why did it always seem that she was the one who froze when he needed her to be strong? He knew he wasn't in a place to be objective yet about who was at fault that day.

"No," he repeated, as much to himself as to Huang. "I can't."

* * *

><p>Olivia was sitting at her desk when Huang returned to the squad room. She saw him working his way across the room to her and for a second, had a desire to make a quick bolt to the locker room so she didn't have to hear what he had to say.<p>

"How did it go?" she asked when he drew near. She knew Cragen had asked the psychiatrist to drive out to Queens and try to talk to Elliot, or at least assess his condition. Cragen was caught between a rock and a hard place, wanting to protect his detective and yet needing to comply with IAB and One PP.

"Let's go into one of the conference rooms," George suggested. He waited while she slowly rose from her desk and headed to the nearest interrogation room. It couldn't' be good news, or he'd have told her right at her desk.

"He's not ready to talk to anyone yet," George said gently when the door was closed and they were both seated. "I persuaded him to meet with IAB and let them conduct their interview, but he doesn't want to see anyone from the SVU squad." He gave a short, dry laugh. "He was none too happy to see me. He was attacking some poor bushes in his front yard with hedge clippers and I was almost afraid to approach him."

Olivia was very familiar with Stabler-rage. "He won't even talk to me?" she asked in a low voice. George hesitated and then reached across the table to take her hand.

"Especially not you, Olivia. He has a lot of anger right now. He needs to work through it before he can talk to you."

"Especially not me," she repeated dully. She looked at Huang, her brown eyes brimming with tears. "He blames me, doesn't he?"

She'd already taken heat from Tucker and 1PP for her actions in allowing a family member access to suspects before they'd been arraigned. She realized they had a point. It had been a relief to be able to tell Jenna that they had her mother's killers in custody and she'd thought it would give the girl some closure to see them. At the time, the last thing on her mind was the right or safety of those scumbags. It should have been a tip-off when the girl asked "Where are they?" but she'd been so distracted by all that was going on that she didn't take the time she should have to assess Jenna's state of mind as she left. And then, when the shooting started, she froze. She just froze. She couldn't process the fact that a sweet young girl was shooting up their squad room fast enough to go for her weapon. Then Sister Peg was on the ground and that was that. It had all happened so fast. She'd left Elliot to handle it all on his own. When she saw the look of horror in his eyes as he crouched next to Jenna's body, she knew how devastated he was by the action he'd forced to take. She'd known immediately that having shot a child would destroy him. All she wanted to do was to be able to apologize for her part in it, to beg his forgiveness, to comfort him, but he wouldn't even take her calls. He wanted nothing to do with her.

George shrugged. "He mostly blames himself, Olivia, but he has a lot of anger in general. That she managed to get upstairs with a gun, that the cages were out in the open and unprotected, that he was the only one who responded with force. He has a lot to work through."

Olivia nodded, trying to control the tears that threatened to spill. She'd spent the last week on autopilot, going through the motions on the outside but feeling numb and terrified on the inside. IAB hadn't suspended her because she hadn't fired her weapon, but she'd been interviewed several times and called on the carpet by Cragen and the Chief of D's. One PP had already issued an edict that the cages were to be moved to a more secure area of the precinct but there was no undoing the damage that had already been done. She wanted, needed her partner here, but he was unavailable to her, perhaps forever. She looked at Huang.

"Is it still talking about quitting?"

Huang nodded. "He is. I think I persuaded him to wait until IAB concludes their formal investigation. He's on leave until then anyway, and I hope, in the meantime, he'll get some help dealing with his feelings about this." He hesitated, not sure how much to share. "He's hurting, Liv. I've never seen him look so…shattered."

Liv knew exactly what he meant. Shattered was the perfect word to describe what had happened to all of them. The Jenna Fox shooting had shattered SVU into a million little fragments and she doubted that they'd ever go back to what they'd once been.


	3. Chapter 3

Six months later

Olivia walked down the hall to her apartment. It had been a long, shitty day and all she wanted to do was run a hot bath and soak in the tub with a glass of wine until she was relaxed enough to fall asleep. In the past, after a difficult case like this, the SVU squad would have gone out to a bar and wound down together, but that rarely happened anymore. The two detectives who'd been hired when Elliot never returned were competent enough, but the atmosphere in the squad room was entirely different these days. They all showed up every morning, worked together to get the job done and everyone got along—but there was no sense of camaraderie, no brotherhood like there had been before. Maybe they were all still too damaged from the Jenna Fox incident. By the time IAB had finished their investigation, Cragen barely had a job and was under constant scrutiny from One PP. Olivia had been officially censured for her poor judgment. The FBI had pulled Huang from his position, citing a need for him elsewhere, but the impression it made was that the Federal agency didn't want to associate themselves with a sinking ship. By the time the two new detectives, Nick Amaro and Amanda Rollins arrived, they were all walking on eggshells and thankful to have jobs at all.

Olivia let out a big sigh as she inserted her key into the door. It was days like this when she most missed Elliot. For as much as they had butted heads at times, no one understood her like he had. They had been a team, true partners. Most of the time there hadn't even been a need to discuss how they would approach a case, they each fell into their accustomed roles, knowing how they other thought and reacted. Now there were no partnerships in SVU—Cragen randomly assigned people as cases came up. Olivia knew that one of the things the Captain had taken heat over was how long she and Elliot had been allowed to work together. It was one of those situations that had worked—until it hadn't anymore—and then everyone was eager to place blame. In some respects, not having a partner suited Olivia—she wasn't ready to get that close to anyone right away—but it made the job seem like so much more _work_ to adjust to a different person with each case. Even John and Fin were different these days. Munch had cut back his hours and did most of his work from the squad room, doing the background checks and computer searches. Fin had stepped up to fill the void left by Elliot, who'd been the most senior detective in the squad and the move had changed him. He was much more serious and cautious than before.

She'd lost track of the number of times she'd turned to Elliot's desk to tell him something—only to flush red when she realized she was talking to an empty chair. No one knew why—or dared ask—why Cragen hadn't assigned his desk to someone. Maybe he held out the same hope that she did—that Elliot would someday decide to return.

_There's no point in dwelling on the past_ she told herself as she entered the empty apartment. More and more she found herself thinking of transferring out of SVU and into a different division of NYPD. Sometimes she thought about leaving police work altogether. Deep down, what held her back was the thought that Elliot might change his mind and come back. IAB's investigation had cleared him of any wrongdoing—much to Tucker's chagrin—but Elliot had refused to return to work. He'd taken a position with the Feds—an irony that didn't escape Olivia after all of his bitching about them—working for the Office of Veteran's Affairs. He was a Special Investigator, still doing detective work but no longer required to carry a gun.

Olivia knew all of this from George Huang, who'd helped Elliot find the position. To this day, she and Elliot had not spoken. For the first month she'd tried to contact him, calling several times a week, even writing him a letter. He'd refused to take her calls and there'd been no response to the letter. Kathy, who had the dubious job of running interference for him—he'd thrown away his cell and refused to answer the house phone-had been apologetic every time she spoke to Olivia. "He's just not ready, Liv. It's not you. It's everything. He just can't—yet."

After awhile, she'd given up, thinking that, when he calmed down, he would contact her, but there'd been no word. He hadn't even met with Cragen when he formally resigned from NYPD, but had done all of the paperwork at One PP. Every day the possibility that she would hear from him seemed less and less likely, but she hadn't completely given up hope—yet.

* * *

><p>Once in her apartment, she hung up her jacket and kicked off her shoes. She stripped off the sweater she was wearing and dropped it on the back of the chair. Wearing only a camisole over a pair of tight black pants, she headed to the kitchen and took a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. It took constant effort to not give into the temptation to lose herself in the numbing comfort of alcohol, but memories of her mother drinking alone usually kept her on track. Tonight, she would make an exception.<p>

Just as she was rummaging through the drawer for a corkscrew, she heard a light tapping at her door. She paused for a moment, thinking she was mistaken, but it came again. It must be the super. He loved to drop by to visit and chat whenever he found an excuse. Sighing, she set the bottle and just- discovered corkscrew on the counter and went to see what he wanted. As she looked through the security peephole, she stifled a gasp of surprise. She fumbled with the deadbolt and chain and threw the door open.

"Elliot!"

He stood there, big as life, with an uncertain smile on his face and a bottle of wine in his hand. He must have come directly from work as he was still wearing a suit, although he'd loosened the tie and unbuttoned the collar of his dress shirt.

"Hello, Liv. Nice to see you too."

She realized her mouth was agape and snapped it closed. "I don't know whether to hug you or slap you." She said tersely.

He flashed her that trademark Stabler grin, full of charm. "I vote for the hug."

She opted for neither but stood back, allowing him to step past her into the apartment. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts and she wondered if she had conjured him up. Crossing her arms, she gave him her best glare. "I haven't heard a word from you in six months and you just show up here with a bottle of wine like nothing ever happened?"

He shrugged and headed for the kitchen. "At least I brought wine." He spotted the bottle on the counter and turned to look at her. "Which do you want me to open?" he asked, holding up his so she could see the label. It was a bottle of merlot, her favorite, with an expensive label, as close to an apology as she'd ever had from him. She nodded toward the bottle in his hand, not trusting herself to speak.

He took two glasses out of the rack on the counter and poured them each a generous portion. When he turned to hand her one, she could see that, despite his nonchalant manner, his blue eyes looked worried and the smile he sported was of the nervous variety. This wasn't easy for him.

"Thank you," she said stiffly, accepting the glass. She added softly, "El, what are you doing here? Why-now?"

He shrugged again and looked past her to the door as if he'd find answers there. "Kathy and the kids are out of town. I was going to pick up some take-out and head home and then I thought of you. And I realized that I might finally be ready to talk."

"And what if _I'm_ not?" Olivia asked in a low voice. She immediately regretted her words. She'd been ready to talk since day one and had made that more than obvious by her repeated phone calls to him.

"Then I'll go," he said simply, but made no move to leave.

"Oh, El." She motioned to the small living area and moved ahead of him to take a seat on the couch. He moved to the opposite end and perched on the edge of the cushion, still unsure of his welcome. "How are you?" she asked gently.

"I'm okay. Better than I was, but…" his voice trailed off for a moment and then he looked her in the eye. "How about you?"

Now it was her turn to shrug. "It's been difficult, Elliot. Not only what happened with Jenna, but the fallout has been horrific. Everything is different at the precinct now. And to not have you there on top of it all has been especially hard." She took a deep breath and went on. "I figured you blamed me and hated me."

He shook his head vehemently. "I could never hate you, Liv."

"Then why did you shut me out?" she asked, her voice sounding much more plaintive than she would have liked. She didn't want to come off as vulnerable to him, not now. At one time, she would have trusted him with everything, but he'd abandoned her and her heart wouldn't allow her to be that trusting again.

"It was myself I hated," he said in a low voice, almost a growl. She could barely hear him. "I'll admit I was full of blame right after it happened. That's why I couldn't talk to any of you. I knew I'd lash out and it wouldn't be pretty. I had to step away, separate myself from everyone—but especially you. I didn't want you to take the brunt of what I was feeling."

"Even though I deserved it?" she asked bluntly. She'd had months to go over and over the events of that terrible day, along with the heat from IAB and she'd long ago come to terms with the fact that she could have handled things better, that if she'd hadn't been so distracted, she might have read Jenna more accurately. That's what she was trained to do, and she'd fucked up. But she'd also come to terms with it, with Huang's help before he left, that it was pointless to dwell on it. She couldn't change the past; all she could do was move forward and do her best next time. She'd paid a huge price for her mistakes, losing her partner, the respect of her colleagues, and the trust of her supervisors.

"No, you didn't deserve it. Deep down, I knew that, and that's why I stayed away." He spread his hands in a helpless gesture and looked at her. In the deep blue of his eyes, she could see that he was laying his soul bare to her and it melted a little bit of her anger. "Liv, you know how hard it is for me to talk about….feelings… in any constructive way. I was so devastated by what I'd done, so wrapped up in my own pain; I knew I wasn't going to be able to do anyone else any good. So I stayed away. We all make mistakes, and there were plenty made that day. There's no point assigning blame. Jenna's dead, I killed her, and I had to find a way to live with that. "

"So what's different now?" she asked in a slightly softer tone.

He laughed a dry chuckle full of irony. "Time heals all wounds, right? You'd be proud of me, I actually starting seeing a therapist. I still am. The department made it mandatory if I was going to receive any of their benefits. There are days when I wake up and remember what happened and don't want to get out of bed, but I'm learning to deal with it. I'm putting it behind me, a little at a time." He paused and looked at her, his eyes soft. "I think about you every day, Liv. There have been dozens of times when I wanted to pick up the phone and call to see how you were doing, but I wasn't ready. And then tonight, when I thought of it, I finally realized-I was. If you don't want to see me, I'd certainly understand."

She reached for his now empty glass and stood up, going to the kitchen counter to refill it and give her time to process what all that he'd told her. Was she ready to let him back in? Did she trust him—and herself enough to open up to him in return? She picked up the bottle, brought it back to the living with her, and refilled both of their glasses.

"Let's talk," she said. The look of relief on his face was almost comical.

* * *

><p>They poured out their hearts along with the contents of both bottles of wine. Olivia had never known him to speak so freely about his feelings. Evidently forced therapy had been good for him. By the time they'd finished the wine and run out of topics, it was clear that he couldn't drive home.<p>

"Do you want me to call you a cab?" she asked. "Or…" she pointed to the couch where he was still sitting, his suit jacket long ago abandoned, along with the tie and his shoes. "That pulls out into a bed."

She found him sheets and blankets and they tipsily made up the sofa bed together. He collapsed onto it with a sigh and patted the spot next to him. "It's good to talk to you again, Liv." He said softly as she stretched out beside him. "I've missed you."

She propped herself up on one elbow and stared down at him. "How do you like your job?" she asked suddenly. It was one thing they hadn't talked about. She'd told him about the changes at the station, about the difficulties of adjusting to new squad members; he'd filled her in on the twin's search for colleges. Kathy's new job as a school counselor and Eli's pre-school—but they hadn't spoken at all about his new position.

"I actually like it a lot," he told her. "It's interesting. In a lot of ways, it's like SVU, finding justice for victims." He sat back up. "In fact, that's what made me think about coming here tonight."

She frowned at him, puzzled. "How so?"

"There's an opening for another investigator. They asked me if I knew anyone. I…thought of you."

She gave him an astonished look. "You'd work with me again?"

"Sure," he said, giving her an enigmatic look. "We did okay together, most of the time."

Olivia pushed herself up off the bed. This was too much to think about on a head spinning with too much wine, and with Elliot so close by.

"I'm going to sleep," she said. "You can tell me about it in the morning."

"The hours are much better," he called after her as she made her way to the bedroom. By the time she'd finished brushing her teeth and changing into night clothes, she could hear him snoring. It was a surprisingly comforting sound and she fell asleep easier than she had in months.

* * *

><p>Olivia stood over the sofa-bed, looking down at Elliot who was sprawled out, still sleeping. During the night he had removed the rest of his clothes and was clad in only a pair of boxer briefs, the blanket she'd given him in a twisted pile at the foot of the bed. It wasn't often she got an opportunity to look at him like this and she took full advantage. He was thinner than she remembered, but still just as muscular; evidently he'd kept up with working out, even without the NYPD gym. His hair was greyer at the temples and there were lines she didn't remember seeing on his face six months ago, but he still looked damned good.<p>

She sat in the chair next to the couch and continued to watch him sleep. Did she really want to consider working with him again? Their relationship had always been….complicated. Closer than many partners, but never romantically involved, despite the many rumors and accusations over the course of their partnership. She'd often wondered what might have happened if Elliot hadn't been married when they'd met, or if he and Kathy had divorced. They were so different in so many ways, but they had a bond between them that went beyond a working relationship. They were both people who felt things deeply and had a hard time letting go of what mattered to them. She'd learned long ago not to dwell on the possibilities and nothing in his situation had changed. Elliot had been clear that it had been Kathy and his children who'd given him the strength to get through his depression after the shooting. Whatever there was between them, it was never going to replace the love and devotion he had for his family.

Still, she'd never felt more alive and vibrant than when working with Elliot. Would it be the same in a different position, or had it been the special circumstances of SVU that bound them together?

She went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, thinking the smell of it brewing would rouse him but he continued to sleep. When it was ready, she poured a cup and went to stand at the side of the sofa She bumped the side of the bed with her knee until he lifted his head, bleary eyed, from the mattress and looked at her.

"Where do I get an application?" she asked, a big smile on her face. He grinned back and, sitting up, reached for the coffee.


End file.
